


" He's Next Door, While I've Got Her On The Floor"

by Im_Batman (orphan_account)



Series: Stevie Doesn't Know [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 08:21:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7259920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Im_Batman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky reflects on life after the war and Peggy pays an unexpected visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	" He's Next Door, While I've Got Her On The Floor"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OhCaptainMyCaptain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhCaptainMyCaptain/gifts).



> So, first off, I apologize for that extremely long hiatus. I was terribly uninspired at the time. But last night I had a rare fit of inspiration and worked all night on this. I was partially sleep deprived, as a matter of fact, I still haven't slept yet. So I'm sorry if this doesn't make a lick of sense. I'll admit, it's just a bunch of word vomit. But go ahead and read at your own risk. I also wanna thank my readers for hanging in there and being patient with me, I know some of you wanted to see more of this story. I had a lot of questions in the comments, so I hope this chapter kind of fills in some of those gaps for you. If not just shoot me a question below. Also, I went back and read my writing from back then and I can honestly say I didn't cringe too much. I would've gone back and tweaked some things here and there, but I figured you guys wouldn't want to be bothered with reading it all over again. But for those of you who are new or don't quite remember the story, feel free to go back and compare my writing then with my writing now, let me know in the comments if you can tell the difference, I'm curious to know what you all think.
> 
> WARNING: Mentions of Rape.
> 
> enjoy!

* * *

Bucky's shirt is open and off his shoulders before he's even made it completely inside his apartment. That heat wave has only let up a notch so that it's as stifling as Satan's asshole when he gets home despite the late night hour. Bucky feels as if he's living perpetually damp with sweat these days, no matter how many freezing showers he's had. His feet ache as he drags himself across the room and onto the sofa, collapsing in a heap of sore joints. He swears he sees a cloud of dust rise from the cushions but he waves it off, he's too damn beat to do anything about it now.

 

Sighing, Bucky lazily shoves his hands in his pockets, fumbling for cigarettes that aren't there anymore. Realizing this, he falls back and curses out loud. He rubs at his eyes tiredly before hauling himself up and limping into the kitchen. Bucky returns with a cloudy glass and an ancient bottle of whiskey; if it can even be called that, it looks like the piss of someone severely dehydrated. But it's not like the man can afford more quality alcohol, lately he's been living paycheck to paycheck.

 

He can't be too assed about it, however, at least his place is decent. He got it for cheap as well, a silent sort of, _thanks for serving time in the war mister_ , it also went without saying that being Captain America's best friend and second in command helped a little(a lot). There are other Veterans living in worse shit tips than him, so he keeps his bitching to himself. It's a little dusty here and there(he should probably do something about that but he can't be bothered: there's no time anyway)but it's definitely a step up from sleeping out on the pavement; actually, make that several steps up.

 

Another sigh and Bucky folds himself back onto the couch, his body protesting the entire time while he kicks his boots off. He pours two fingers-correction _four_ -of that piss poor whiskey and takes a swig. He nearly coughs up a fucking lung because _fuck him that's bad_. He has to take a whiff to confirm that it's _not actually some bastard's whiz._ But no, it was more like chugging straight alcohol than sour piss. Bucky wipes at his eyes and coughs once more before settling(more like deflating). He lets his eyes droop shut and feels the thoughts heave themselves out the hole he originally buried them in. Exhaling through his nose he lets them come for once, too tired, too sore, too _anything_ to fight them off this time. He's kept his mind carefully empty so far, but to no one's surprise, that blissful nothing is coming to an end.

 

First and foremost he suddenly feels a sickening wave of- _something_ -as images from earlier today flicker to life on his mental movie screen. It was during his lunch break, he was sitting by the dumpster out back curled over a stale sandwich and a bruised apple. His hair drooped over his eyes in sad curls as he mechanically chewed, tiredly staring into space. He purposely isolated himself, not because he was socially awkward; no, he'd been quite the charmer before the war, but now...now the world didn't need saving anymore. So every soldier dutifully returned home to a life: kids, a wife, old friends, maybe a pet. But that doesn't mean they'll ever be the same. Some returned to find an empty house, divorce papers, and _I'm sorry, we didn't know if you were dead or alive. If you even are alive now. You may never get this, I'll never know. I just couldn't keep waiting. It would've driven me crazy had I done it. Love, your wife no longer._

 

He made himself into an outcast because he couldn't bear to pretend as if life would go on. The world kept spinning but he'd rather dig his heels in the ground than to try and catch up. He just needed time-yeah, time to take it all in, to catch his breath. But then that brought him to Steve. Steve had asthma for fuck's sake(not anymore apparently)and he was running circles around everyone without even breaking a sweat. He shoved that train of thought away violently quick. It was only going to incapacitate him if he kept on like that; he'd be in a daze for the rest of the day. He couldn't afford to lose this job or worse; lose a limb to the machinery while he mentally rolled in pity. 

 

He could've eaten in the work room with the other ex-soldiers. At least they'd understand some of what he was feeling. But there was anarchy in the work place, some were glad this sorry ass war was over, now they could get on with their lives. But others, others like Bucky, yearned for the battlefield once more. They wanted bloody hands and adrenaline and roaring weapons of destruction. They wanted a purpose.

 

Two different parties, two different opinions. It caused inevitable tension: thunderous glares and heated arguments. Bucky grew weary of it fast, he'd seen enough petty disputes in his life and people have died because of it. So he ended up here: outside the factory with no pleasant small talk and the putrid smell of garbage in his nose. He'd rather argue his freedom than listen to a bunch of hot headed bastards yell at each other while sharing their wives' leftovers.

 

Bucky had just started working on his apple when two ruddy faced workers burst through the exit. He nearly choked as he huddled against the dumpster to not draw attention to himself. He'd almost gagged on the smell but forced himself to stay quiet and finish his lunch. They were on the side of the post war worshippers, apparent when they loudly expressed their relief and gratitude. One worker says, "I can't tell you how glad I am to be back. That cluster fuck is finally sorted. Now I get to go home to Ruby and give her what's good, might even have some kids." His friend slaps him on the back and makes commentary in all the right places.

 

Bucky was happy for the guy, truly. But he could never see himself settling down. When he imagines what his future would look like-what he wants it to look like-flashes of blonde hair and blue eyes sneak up on him and he has to swiftly beat them down. It's no use getting his hopes up, he'd only be disappointed...

* * *

 

A loud knocking at his door has Bucky snapping his eyes open and jerking frantically. He spits a curse as his pathetic whiskey finds its way into his lap. The rude knocking persists and finally he quits fumbling with his clothes to slam his glass down with a growl.

“Alright! Cut that shit out, I'm coming ok?”

He struggles with the locks momentarily before wrenching the door open. He blinks stupidly at the visitor.

He rubs at his eyes blearily just to make sure he's seeing right because before him stands...Peggy. He looks away briefly to check the time because it's-just as Bucky figured-nearly midnight and Ms. Carter stands before him, a hand on the threshold and an arrogantly expectant look on her face. She looks...wrong, although Bucky can't quite put his finger on it. Upon a closer look, however, he finds that her usually proud lipstick is faded around the edges while the rest of her seems rumpled and windblown.

“Uh...Carter? Is everything alright?”

She makes an odd, high pitched sound in her throat, which sounds maybe like the beginning of a scoff(perhaps a hiccup?) and pushes past Bucky.

“I was _waiting_ for you to invite me _in_. But I suppose you and Steve have that in common, unable to recognize a hint when it's bloody given to them.”

“.....What?”

She releases a long, put upon sigh, as if Bucky is terribly dull.

He follows her as she saunters around his living room, peering curiously at everything and occasionally poking things. Finally she settles on a chair kicks off her heels, having already abandoned her hand bag at the door. Bucky plucks it from its sad heap on the floor before turning to watch Peggy carefully. Her eyes are a bit shiny-almost glassy-as she snatches his forgotten bottle of whiskey from the couch. She peers down the neck of the glass disdainfully before chugging straight from the bottle. 

 

Bucky stands rooted in place, spluttering helplessly for a moment before striding over and ripping the alcohol out of her grip.

“Jesus Christ Peggy! Have you fucking lost it?!”

Carter blinks at him and giggles- _fucking giggles_ -patting his cheek like a mother would to a naive child.

“On the contrary, love, I believe I've just found it.”

Bucky releases a tired groan, “God help me.”

* * *

 

“You're drunk.”

“Am not.”

“Yes you are! You're splitting fucking drunk Peggy!”

She giggles again and proceeds to pout, “Aw, what gave me away?”

Bucky tries to place his hands on her shoulders, tries to get her attention, but she's squirming and smiling and _so fucking pleased with herself._

“Carter. Carter look at me!”

“I'm _terribly_ bored Barnes.”

“You're drunk Peggy, I think it would be best if you-”

But Peggy's not even paying Bucky any mind, just humming and grinning like a Sphinx.

Suddenly she claps her hands and wriggles in the chair like an overexcited child. “Let's dance Barnes!”

He takes a moment to breathe and rub his forehead, as if trying to summon patience like a genie in a lamp. But Carter's already bounding around the room, giggling( _God not again_ ) and muttering to herself.

“ _Peggy please_ , settle down-”

“You wouldn't happen to have any music, would you?”

 

Bucky tips his head back staring at the ceiling, praying for more patience- _please just a little bit more_ -he's so tired and his brain hurts from thinking earlier and Carter's behavior is extremely fucking disturbing-

 

* * *

 

His shift was finally over and it had gotten dark out. His entire body was positively wailing. His fingers were numb and thick with callouses. He rested against the jagged brick wall and just let himself _be_ for a moment. He inhaled deeply, stretching like a cat and groaning in pleasure when his back popped.

 

The moment was disturbed when the same workers from earlier stumbled out of the exit, drunk and delighted and hysterical. Side eyeing them, Bucky clings to dumpster again, disregarding the disgusting fumes coming off of it. One of them was doubled over in laughter, gasping, while the other slapped his knee and playfully shoved his companion. It was too dark, however, and Bucky didn't care enough to make an effort of identifying them. Instead he pulled out his last cigarette(damn that explains it) lighting it quietly, attempting to be one with the wall.

 

A woman walked by at that moment. Her dress almost swallowed her. Her skin was pale but the circles under her eyes were dark. Her hair was a sad version of how the models styled it. She looked as if she could've been pretty at one time, but the color had been drained from her by life, by endless labor, by the war. Now she was just a ghost of a memory. Everything about her had a washed out look to it.

 

The workers straightened immediately, if they were dogs, surely their ears would've been perked. The woman noticed too and almost imperceptibly began to tremble. Bucky's gut twisted uncomfortably. They were like bloodhounds the way they cornered her, even he could smell the fear rolling off of her. His shoulders went rigid as they prowled around her.

 

No matter how much they claimed to be glad for the war's end, Bucky knew the truth. He saw it in the way they towered over her, the way their eyes tracked her movements, the way their teeth were bared and muscles coiled. They wanted to hear bone snap under their fists, they wanted to see bodies drop under the rain of their bullets; they wanted a _fight_.

 

Bucky did too, _but not like this_ , this is wrong. She looked at him and he went still- _no, no don't look, he can't help her-_ he squeezed his eyes closed so hard he was starting to see patterns behind his eyelids. He desperately inhaled his cigarette, he didn't hear her whimper( _he didn't_ ), or hyperventilate or sob or-

He turned sharply on his heel, flicking his cigarette remains into a puddle. And when he heard her cries worsen only to be muffled he didn't turn to look. He set a brisk pace home while keeping his mind carefully quiet

* * *

 

Bucky steps forward and seizes Peggy by her shoulders.

“Carter. You. Need. To. Go. Home.”

At this her expression darkens considerably, no longer bubbly and drunk, but dead sober.

“And where would that be Barnes?”

“I...don't know.” (Fuck that's shitty of him. He can't even get her a cab.)

“Exactly. But I'll tell you where it _isn't_!” Her voice raising in volume at the end.

“It isn't next door, because Steve isn't _fucking home_. He's back at the bar with his dozens of pathetic, simpering, ass licking fans!”

“Peggy-”

But she's not done, “And the next time he tries to crawl in bed with me at night I'm going tell him he can just _go fuck himself_!“

Bucky runs a hand over his face because he's _tired_ and Carter's _hurt_. And _angry._

 

Maybe if it had been Steve at the door, stupidly drunk and trying to dance, He would have been more lenient. He would have smiled fondly at the idiot and humored him all night long. Maybe if it had been(and he hates to even think it)his Steve in that back alley, he would have stood up for him. He would have kicked the shit out of those guys, job be damned. And then a very cynical( and self deprecating) part of his mind scoffed,  
“Yeah well, it's not like he needs you to save his ass anymore. He can take care of himself now.” Then Bucky very quietly and very sadly admits to himself that perhaps Steve no longer needs anyone. Not even him.

 

* * *

 

Bucky is trying _very hard_ to stay calm. But Peggy is still slightly intoxicated and since her earlier out burst she won't _shut the fuck up_. Maybe he looks like some kind of shrink? That's it. He has therapist written across his forehead, that must be why Carter has the deluded impression that Bucky _gives a flying fuck_.

He's exhausted. He's emotionally drained. He's got a migraine. And most of all he just wants to sleep for a couple hundred years. He would like to turn his thoughts off for once. He wants to never face Steve ever again(but not really). And he wants Peggy to shut up or leave.

He lets out a low groan, “Carter.”

Pacing. Ranting.

A sigh, ”Peggy.”

Still pacing. Still ranting.

A growl, “ _Carter_.”

_More pacing. More ranting._

Suddenly Bucky's out of his seat and on Peggy in a heartbeat. He doesn't hit her. He doesn't yell. He _kisses_ her. And she _stops talking_.

He's got a handful of her hair and his tongue so far in her mouth. It's reckless, _he knows this: she knows this_. But she's got her nails in his back and his mouth is on her neck. Now they're backed against the window and he hitches her up on the sill. Their hands are everywhere.

 

It's so, so _wrong_. But fuck if he's stopping now. His belt falls to the floor with a clink and he's somewhere else already. She may not be Steve, but he can make do, he does have a very creative imagination after all. Hell, maybe she's imagining he's Steve too. They can't have him so they take each other instead. Bucky knows this will end badly, fate likes kicking him in the balls too much for them to get away with this, but he'll get everything can out of this. These memories will keep him company on lonely nights when his best friend hates him.

* * *

 

Bucky wakes up in bed but doesn't know how he ended up there. Last he remembers he was rocking into Carter like there was no tomorrow on the kitchen table. He looks over expecting to see the space empty and only a faint trace of perfume to prove she was ever there. But to his utter surprise, she's sprawled out on his pillow, looking thoroughly fucked out. There's a bite on her lip and he chokes back a moan at the memory.

 

He'd been two fingers in, she was desperately bearing down on him. They'd been so close, breathing the same air, that he couldn't help it: he leaned forward and nipped at her bottom lip. A little too hard he'll admit, because she started to bleed and for a minute he was back in the movie theatre alley, picking Steve off of the pavement. He'd had blood on his mouth, he had wanted to kiss Steve that day, to wipe away the copper and replace it with his tongue instead. At the time he didn't-but _this_  time-he did. He really fucking did. Bucky had a hand up Steve's shirt and he was whimpering against the taller man's mouth. By the end both of their mouths were bloody and swollen.

 

A soft knock at the door pulled Bucky back to reality and he was a little hard again. He didn't know who it could be at-he checks the time-such an early hour. Hazardously pulling on some pants, Bucky makes his way to the door while also cleaning up a bit(they really didn't hold back last night). Finally he makes it to the door and pulls it open, squinting against the sunlight. And his stomach drops.

 

It's Steve. His Steve. God he's so fucking happy. And so, so _guilty_. Guilt. He was hit with a sickening wave of guilt last night.

“Hey pal! What can I do for you?”

He hopes he doesn't sound too cheery, then it'd seem like he had something to hide(which he does). He hopes his voice didn't tremble either.

“Uh...yeah actually. I was wondering if you've seen Peggy lately. Maybe last night. She was pretty upset and I just wanted to make sure she made it home alright. ”

God his urge to deny everything is incredibly _strong_. He won't lie about seeing her, however, he'd hate himself if he made Steve worry.

“Yeah, I did see her actually. She, uh, was...pretty tipsy. So I got her a cab home. I told her to call when she woke up today. I haven't heard from her yet, so she's probably still passed out.”

 

The smile Steve gives Bucky is blinding. And he feels _so damn unworthy._ He didn't send Peggy home. He fucked her within an inch of her life and let her stay the night while Steve was probably out there worrying his ass off.

“Hey Buck, do you mind if I come in?”

His toes are barely touching the threshold but Bucky flips his shit anyway.

“You can't! Because I've got a, uh, dame...you know.”

He trails off, coughing awkwardly and avoiding eye contact because holy shit he's giving him the kicked puppy look and he can't, he just can't.

“Oh. Well ok then. I'll see you.”

Fuck he looks so wounded. Bucky mentally cringes, begging someone to _please, please kill him now._

Steve wanders off then like a hurt animal and Bucky has never been so ashamed, never felt so shitty in his entire life.

He slowly closes the door and rests his forehead against the wood. Peggy approaches him from behind and presses her own forehead against his back. He can feel a sudden wetness(tears, he realizes)on his skin, it stings as they run over his scratches but he ignores it. Instead, Bucky reaches around to take hold of Carter's hand, realizing how suddenly tiny she feels against him. Although she's not the only one who feels a small at the moment. Karma looms over them, ready to strike the pair down when they least expect it.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed, and I hope this chapter was long enough to your liking. I'm not sure when I'll be able to update next. I'd like to take my time writing this story but I'll also be out of town this week, sorry! But do feel free to leave your thoughts and opinions in the comments. I appreciate every one of them!


End file.
